The (Long) Journey Home

FRANKFURT AIRPORT HOLIDAY INN.

3.30AM (CET). "Four Chords" goes off on my phone, and I stumble awake feeling like a poleaxed steer. It genuinely takes me a minute to figure out where I am and what's going on.

I lurch about, brushing my teeth and collecting my stuff together.

3.39AM (CET). "Four Chords" goes off again. This time I manage to figure out how to turn the alarm off rather than just snoozing it.

3.45AM (CET). I stumble out into the night. I'd gone back and forth for a while about whether to walk into Frankfurt Airport or take the train (my day pass from yesterday goes through to 5am). I finally came to a decision last night when I realized that the train ran to Terminal 1 and that KLM was in Terminal 2, which was also closer to the hotel.

I'd been somewhat nervous because of all the highways and complex multilane/multiroad intersections between the Holiday Inn and the airport, but a run through of Google Streetview last night convinced me it was OK.

Sure enough, and once I get to the other side of the highway, I can just follow the suitcase caravan, silhouetted against the light-polluted skies of night. Good thing, too, because when I get close to the Terminal, the path becomes increasingly less obvious. But finally I emerge into the bright faux-daytime of the terminal.

FRANKFURT AIRPORT.

4.00AM (CET). The displays tell me which desks ("positions") to go to, and eventually I find an empty line for KLM in front of empty positions. There's no one else here. I position myself there.

It's Hurry Up and Wait Time.

4.30AM (CET). A line has formed behind me, and meanwhile a few latecomers have appeared in the we're-rich/Priority line. Despite their late arrival, they'll get served first, which is how it works to lift yourself up by your own bootstraps. Meanwhile, the Priority clerk has shown up, but no American exceptionalism for her: she does the work of setting up every single position before settling into the Priority desk.

4.45AM (CET). Two-thirds of the priority line has been served, and I think to myself, "If only the people in this plebeian line had worked harder to get up to see a clerk, then perhaps they also would be on their way to their gate."

And then in a wave the clerks for the rest of the positions show up. I am first of the plebeians. It's easy enough to get checked in, to bid adieu to my bag, and to get my boarding passes for all three planes. It's ridiculous that I had to get up at 3.30 to do this, but there wasn't a lot of option with Delta refusing to check me in beforehand. I'm not taking chances when there's half-a-world to traverse.

I would say, "Note to Self" that I should book with KLM next time in a situation like this, but Delta actually made it really hard to see that the initial flights were KLM's and not theirs: I didn't know for sure who had which flights until I got my boarding passes today.

5.00AM (CET). No "TSAPre" for me here. I actually note that my boarding passes list me as TSAPre for the second and third flights, but not the first one, which is wacky since the first one is (hopefully) the only one where I'll have to enter an airport. (Spoiler: not the case, but that lies far ahead, in America.)

There's actually no security line at 5am, but because I don't have a pre-clearance here in Europe, I have to use the naked-picture machine, and they apparently don't like the results, because I get felt up much more thoroughly than I would at an American airport. Maybe it's not even about the results, because they seem to be feeling up EVERYONE who trickles through at this very early point of the day.

And after that I wander down to my gate, which curiously has its sitting area behind a "secured" door. So I'm the first person to position myself in the chairs out in the hallway.

It's Hurry Up and Wait Time.

6.15AM (CET). The gate's desk opens. A huge group of people rush over to be serviced. Hello, don't you have seat assignments already? It's a little "hopper" flight from Frankfurt to Amsterdam, nothing to worry about. Is there something else you need to Karen at the desk?

(Maybe they just want to be able to get into the locked room with more seats, as passengers are now sprawled across about 50 yards of corridor around the gate. But they won't.)

6.20AM (CET). People now seem to be magnetically drawn to the gate area, to hover about even if they don't have a problem. They just stand there at attention, one hand on a rollerbag.

6.30AM (CET). Time to go! After they scan our boarding passes we very briefly see the fabled land of the secret seating room, but we just rush through it.

What is sadder than a roomful of chairs that are never used?

6.40AM (CET). Down, down we go, to my surprise onto the tarmac, and even more to my surprise into a bus! We all sit around there, acting like this is completely normal (and perhaps it is at Frankfurt).

6.45AM (CET). The bus initially heads straight away from the airport, which is unnerving, but then it takes a few turns and soon we're threading a labyrinth made out of airplanes. We eventually stop by one and everyone unloads into the cold Frankfurt morning. Most of them are bright enough to be wearing jackets and coats; not I. I try to act like I'm warm and don't care.

We then climb up a stairway to the airplane like it's 1965.

ON PLANE #1.

6.50AM (CET). My rowmate asks me to swap seats with her boyfriend, which moves my row 6 seat to a row 4 seat, a huge gain given the mad dash required in Amsterdam. (An hour and a half to transit the airport and clear Passport Control, which is probably fine on a Sunday morning, but nonetheless, I'm happy to get every advantage.)

A few minutes later, the hatch closes, leading me to hope that we'll indeed make our scheduled 7am departure, likely the most critical element in whether I make my plane in Amsterdam, back to AMERICA.

7.15AM (CET). And finally, we're cleared to take off, a little late but not bad.

KLM's "city hopper" seats are really quite comfortable compared to the "island hopper" seats on Hawaiian. They're wide and have plenty of leg room and also comfortable leather. It makes me cross my fingers for the LONG flight on KLM.

So comfortable ...

7.30AM (CET). I wake up after 5 or 10 minutes of sleep feeling refreshed enough that I'm not going to sleep again on this flight. Will it be my only sleep for this bizarre day? We shall see ...
(Spoiler: I manage 5 minute maybe five or six times over the course of a day's travel.)

AMSTERDAM AIRPORT.

8.15AM (CET). I unload ... onto another bus. Darn it, there goes my two-row advantage (and some of my advantage of making sure I was very near the front of the plane).

8.25AM (CET). Passport control! The signs say 20-25 minutes. The line is long, but moving. This is all pretty typical for the few times I've been through Amsterdam.

8.30AM (CET). There is a total Karen right behind me. Unshockingly, she's from America. She complains about being forced to use self check-out machines at Albertson's. Then she goes on to something about Mexicans using self check-out machines, which I don't really understand, but I'm pretty sure is something racist. She complains about the auto-passport machines the Europeans use, not because they get to go much faster, but instead because THEY TAKE YOUR PICTURE. (Karen is apparently unaware that her Passport also includes a picture.)

There's a "short connection" lane, for people who are rushing, and I listen to them tick up the time. They will take departures of 9.20. 9.25. 9.30. 9.35. My departure is 9.50, so I'm not *quite* a short connection yet, when I leave that central lane behind for the last time, to head off to the Passport stampers.

Karen wonders if maybe she can use her BOARDING TIME as if it were a departure time, but her husband discourages her. It's the only time I hear him break into her constant monologue of complaints the whole time I'm in line.

8.55AM (CET). Finally, to the front! As I stand in line before the ALL PASSPORTS lane, there's a EUROPEAN PASSPORT lane to my right. Someone occasionally comes up to use it, but people from our line can also step it into if the agent is free and there are no waiting Europeans. Karen, talking to my back, keeps telling me that I should queue up in the line. Color me totally unsurprised that her entitlement doesn't allow her to understand that the Europeans have priority, and we only get to use that line IF IT'S CLEAR.

I totally ignore her. Karen hates that. I do eventually step into the European line when it's clear, however.

(And thank you for amusing me for thirty minutes with your overprivileged inanity, Karen.)

9.00AM (CET). When I get to my gate, which is a bit of a walk, there's already a queue for "Zones 1 to 2", which I am a part of. It's labeled "Sky Priority", which I guess means that I really did only have myself to blame for not being in the faster lane this morning at the Frankfurt Airport. I could totally have lifted myself by my bootstraps.

(From past experience, I thought my comfort seat on this second flight likely meant I qualified for Sky Priority, but I wasn't sure because none of my literature said so, likely again because I went through Delta, and the seat on my *first* [short] flight wasn't any kind of priority. So I minimized the possibility of discord on this very long day, knowing that if I was first in the plebeian line, I'd still be to my gate in plenty of time.)

At last, it's again Hurry Up and Wait Time. Though not for long. I wished I'd hurried 5-10 minutes less so that I could have grabbed something to eat. But I think I have two squares of good-ish chocolate in my backpack, which I dumped out of my fridge in Köln two days ago.

ON PLANE #2.

9.15AM (CET). I have a "premium comfort" seat for my flight from Europe to the US, which is a considerable step down from Business Class, but a considerable step up from Economy. We get "Refreshing Towels" to clean ourselves, but they come packaged and are COLD. Bleh.

Seriously, though, the seat's much nicer than I expected for the price, wide and with plenty of room, though there's a weird cyborg arm hanging down with a light. I constantly catch it out of the corner of my eye and feel like it's invading my personal space.

Ironically, I actually passed by my seat on the way in, figuring it was the first class lounge, and only doubled back when I saw I'd passed my number

It turns out that the seats do have one deficit: they recline enough that it's hard to get out of your row if the chairs in front of you are reclined. You have to do a weird diagonal walk. (Meanwhile, I'm sitting in another favorite location of mine: in front of the faux-bulkhead separating premium from economy, which means that I can recline my seat without worrying about inconveniencing someone behind me, and I DO. It's very comfortable, something that I would realize even moreso when I sadly have to transfer to Delta for the final leg of my journey.

9.50AM (CET). We do not take off. Word is that there is a "shortage of ground equipment", but that we should be taking off 10 minutes late or so. (Actual answer: 30.)

11.00AM (CET). Turns out my seat tray (which is one of those ones that lifts out of the arm) has a considerable slant to it. My tomato juice constantly tries to slide toward my row mate. Fun times.

11.40AM (CET). Food at last. Well, I mean other than the nuts earlier in the trip (not heated like in business class). In fact, it's probably better than I arrived on the plane hungry given they'll be constantly serving us food for the next half-a-day.

12.10PM (CET). What I had thought was a sobbing infant has begun screaming "I'll get you, I'll get you, I'll get you". It's somewhat disconcerting.

4.00PM (CET). My row mate has taken up sniffling as a new hobby, with a bit of coughing thrown in for variety. I'm regretting the unmasked eating and drinking earlier, but what else can you do on an 11-hour flight? (That's why I go ahead and get the ridiculous Business Class on the way out, so I can sit on my own and minimize the odds that I come down with something just as the workshop starts.)

5.00PM (CET). 11 hours is certainly enough time to learn to loathe everyone around you, such as the gentleman in front of me who THROWS himself back in his seat every time he moves, and has banged my computer any number of times as a result.

7.00PM (CET). The sun has been our constant companion today, at least once we lifted past the clouded skies of Amsterdam. We've got those fancy tintable windows that I also saw on United last year, and I've had my windows dimmed down to the next-to-last level much of the flight, so that I can see the sky but not blind myself or my (coughing) seat mate. But even at that level it's starting to get quite bright as we head toward 7pm CET, but which is likely 10am under us. (I think we're in the Pacific time zone by now: the maps shows us passing by the Yellowstone Caldera.)

7.30PM (CET). I opt to skip the final meal service of the day, both because I'm tired of eating (and I want to save room for Taco Bell in Lihue) and to avoid at least some of the danger of the mad cougher what coughs at midnight (and most other times).

8.00PM (CET). Another Karen has decided that it's OK to start jazzercizing in the aisle.

LOS ANGELES.

11.50AM (PDT). We land in LA and my phone and watch click over to PDT. It's not quite noon.

I always find long plane rides to be weird limbo-like experiences. But that's even more the case when flying back from Europe. Timewise, it's just a few hours since we lifted off on Amsterdam, but of course a whole day has gone by. Weird.

12.10PM (PDT). I am shocked by the long labyrinth we walk to get to Customs. It must be close to a mile. (By the end of the day I pass 5 miles of walking, with the biggest contributors being the walking at LAX and at the very start of the morning the walk down to the Frankfurt airport.)

I finally get to Customs and drop into the Global Entry line. Last year, at Seattle, it didn't work at all. This time, I go up to a machine, take off my mask and glasses, it TAKES MY PICTURE and ...

A woman at the front calls my name!

It doesn't even need my card any more. That's spooky!

12.25pm (PDT). I'm always put off by the need to get my checked bag and then check it back in when I arrive in the US. I mean, I remember they used to search you sometimes back in the '90s, but now you mostly just walk through the no-declarations archway and that's it. But it's a bit of stress as you have to figure out where to go to get your baggage back on the planes.

Still, I guess it's nice to see that your luggage made it to the US!

12.30pm (PDT). Oh right, weird backroom TSA because the United States doesn't trust the security checks in other countries. Even though my check in Frankfurt was much more extensive than the one in LAX. Good thing my third boarding pass says "TSAPre" on it. I mean, none of the backroom TSA lines are long, but it means that I get to keep my shoes on.

I do have to sit around a bit, though, after I try and smuggle in a bottle of water. (Total accident: I'd been accumulating plastic water bottles throughout my backpack across the previous two flights because I'd packed my good metal water bottle in my luggage, as I was afraid I'd otherwise lose track of it at some point in this long 24+ hour day.) Good job TSA folks, catching that dangerous water bottle overlooked by previous security checks! I mean the water bottle that actually came off of another, totally secure plane.

Anyway, back to square one: no water on me. I eventually buy some at Starbucks for $5. Also, a chocolate croissant. Mmmm.

12.45pm (PDT). It takes me just less than an hour gate to gate at LAX, most of that time spent walking.

It took me just more than an hour gate to gate at Amsterdam, most of that spent standing in line.

Is there some lesson here about Europe and the United States?

It's Hurry Up and Wait Time.

ON PLANE #3.

2.45pm (PDT). The Delta flight is definitely the least nice of my flights for the day. It's all just tinier and more cramped. I have two row mates for the first time, despite my Comfort+ seat, and there's a teeny single bathroom just a few rows ahead. The sound is also louder, though not as bad as that horrible Delta flight from Seattle last year.

Delta just wouldn't be high on my list of carriers if not for the fact that they seem to be the only airline running afternoon flights to Hawaii from the West Coast, allowing me to get from Europe in a single (extremely long) day.

So I'll keep hoping that Hawaiian actually gets those big planes they've been promising to allow direct flights to Europe.

3pm (PDT). I am astounded how smoggy all of the LA area looks like as we take off. Smoke? Smog? Fog? I dunno, but it's not attractive.

3.15pm (PDT). Delta actually runs free snacks (chips and stuff) through the cabin, then drinks, before bringing out a scam cart of paid food (making it almost not a scam cart, because the "scam", which I think I saw for the first time on Hawaiian though it could have been United, involves getting people to buy food rather than waiting for the free stuff 30 minutes later).

But I hope you're not hungry, because chips, cookies, and granola is all that Delta thinks you "need" for a 6 hour flight. See above about them being a bargain-basement airline. I mean, not Southwestern or Spirit or anything.

4.55pm (PDT). Almost no one was masked on my European flights (other than moi). It's still a huge minority, but on this final, American flight a small percentage of people are. Not what I would have expected (but I did hear while in Europe that people there were acting like COVID wasn't a threat any more).

5.45pm (PDT). Hearing the constant wrapping and unwrapping os Subway sandwiches, I almost feel like I'm riding the bus rather than taking the airplane. If nothing else, Delta is a very different level of quality from KLM. So maybe it does feel like Spirit, but only in comparison.

LIHUE AIRPORT.

5.15pm (HST). We're almost 45 minutes early landing, so I suppose Delta does have that going for it (though really, they're probably not responsible for beneficial trade winds).

This last flight has been agony. I've been exhausted, but unable to sleep because of the uncomfortable seat. So I move back and forth between playing a stupid game, trying to read a comic, and just staring. Oh, I edit a bit too, but will reedit the whole chapter Monday morning, just in case.

Not even food to distract.

Nonetheless the 5+ hours whiz by and I'm thrilled to see the familiar Lihue airport.

5.30pm (HST). At the baggage claim. One monitor reads "Windows Media Player" and all the rest are black. In other words, nothing says what bags are arriving where. Fortunately, there are only two baggage carousels, so I just go stand by the one that starts up. And then the other one starts up and I have no idea where my bag will be. (Spoiler: it's at the carousel I don't choose, of course.)

Kimberly shows up, having been dropped off, which is nice.

And so we wait, trying to watch two baggage carousels simultaneously.

5.45pm (HST) [5.45am (CET). Homeward bound at last! Everyone has come to see me: my dad, Mary, and Kimberly.

There is of course a stop by Taco Bell on the way home.

Some things are worth extending a 26-hour day of travel.